The Last Journey
by Foxbracken - Phoenix Everren
Summary: What happened to Max after he left the Hubermann household? Did he perish, or did he make it out alive? One scenario out of hundreds of theories is written here, telling a fate of what could have happened to Max.


Turning around, Max casted one last yearning glance to the Hubermann's household, wanting to stay but knew it was safer if he left. The darkness of night engulfed everything around him, only the pale light shining down from the lamps. Sighing softly, he turned away from the home and shambled off, the scruffy cloth of his sack brushing against the exposed skin on his neck. As much as he wanted to go look for his family, Max knew it would be too risky. Besides, his family might already have been captured. The thought alone caused anger to boil in his gut, and he remembered his dream of fighting Hitler. Max shook his head to chase away the thoughts, knowing he had to stay focused if he wanted to get out of Germany without being caught.

Trudging on, the Jew made sure to stay on guard. Every noise made him tense and agitated, causing him to look around frequently as he headed to the train station. Once Max reached his destination, his nose was assaulted by the smoke the train puffed out. The foul cloud twisted his stomach but Max ignored it, stepping in the small line to get on the metal beast. His nervousness immediately turned to anxiety as the conductor uttered a single word: "Papers."

Max's identity card and ticket was not enough to get him on the train. He needed his papers, which he did not have, and even if he did, he could never use them considering it would give away he was a Jew, and he did not have a copy of _Mein Kampf_, he used the pages for his own purposes. Throat as dry as desert sand, he parted his lips to speak but nothing came out. Yet the runaway Jew was saved by a stranger who barked, "He's with me." Max quickly stepped aside and slid his gaze to his sudden savior warily, seeing the man being tall and well groomed, his suit nice and neat. On his bicep, however, was the all too familiar sign; the Nazi swastika.

Realizing it was too late to turn tail and flee; Max forced himself to follow the Nazi onto the train. Following the untrustworthy savior, the Jew was alarmed to see that they had their own cabin. Perhaps it was because the train wasn't full, considering it was near midnight, but Max's gut disagreed. Nervously, he ran his hand through his cut, feather-like black hair as he sat down, the Nazi sitting across from him and looking down at the floor, hands clasped together. Finally, the Jew found his voice that went into hiding. "Who are you?"

The man looked up at him, eyes hard and cold. "Hans Hubermann Junior, and you are?"

Max felt his blood run cold, as if ice were injected into his veins. He overheard Hans and Rosa Hubermann talking about their son before, saying they had to be very careful about Max if he ever decided to visit them again. "M-Max," the Jew finally articulated, the blood roaring in his ears as scenarios ran through his head. Max automatically assumed the worse, believing Hans Junior was either going to turn him in or kill him then and there.

"Are you leaving Germany?"

"Yes, I am."

"So, you are a Jew, then?"

Max fell silent after that question. Even if he denied it, he had a feeling Hans Junior would know he was lying. The Nazi leaned forward, repulsion and hatred burning dangerously in his eyes; inside, Max tensed, prepared to fight the man if he had to. "Look, _Saukrel_, I am letting you off once. You're lucky that I am in a good mood; but if I see you again, I will turn you in. I do not need your filthy kind destroying Germany again! You better be leaving my country if you value your life."

Each word that spewed out of Hans Junior's mouth was barbed with venom, and the way his eyes glittered was that of a snake, prepared to strike the unfortunate soul. Max, however, was more focused on the words and not the tone which they were used in. A Nazi was letting him escape and it seemed too good to be true. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to leave and never return," Hans Junior growled, rising from his seat. "This is the only time that you will be helped by a Nazi, _Saukrel_. Don't get used to it." With those parting words, the Nazi left the cabin with an air of importance and anger. Max sighed and slumped down, heart throbbing heavily in his chest, he feared it would burst out of its cage. Never would he have fathomed that a German would save his hide, let alone a Nazi! Perhaps some of Hans's kindness rubbed off onto his son, despite how much detestation his son held against him. Listening to the sound of fading footsteps, Max made sure that Hans Junior was not coming back with others to arrest him. A Jew could never be too careful around a Nazi.

Once he was definitely alone, the Jew turned and gazed out the window of the train. The night had washed away the surroundings, but as they passed small towns, the light from the lamps would flash by. Max listened to the wheels turning against the tracks as the creature chugged on, bellowing into the night every now and then. The fumes the brute snorted out no longer bothered Max's sense of smell, his nose had become numb, turning a blind side to the odor. The Jew's eyes grew heavier with each passing breath, and soon the young man succumbed to slumber and the battle with sleep was lost.

Max spent the next few days riding that train, trying to get as far away as he could before he would be forced to leave. Unfortunately, it was not very far at all in his eyes. After carefully asking around, he discovered that he was near Poland. It was not close to safety at all, considering the fact Hitler and his Nazis had already taken over that country; but it would do. Max could not afford to be picky with where he went, as long as he made sure not to get caught. Stepping off the train, Max kept his head low as he weaved through the crowd of people, skin and clothing brushing against him as he went. People shouted to be heard over others and young children wailed in distress, the bustle overwhelming their senses. Even the Jew was feeling overwhelmed when he wriggled out of the crowd. He headed on, veering away from the town and toward the countryside.

The sky was gray and fog lazily floated along the ground, breaking away as Max walked through it, leaving snapped tendrils behind. He had a feeling it was going to rain very soon, and he was thankful that Rosa gave him a large coat to take with him, as well as food which was tucked away in the pack clinging onto his back. Settling down under a broad tree, Max used the coat to cover his head as he opened the bag, pulling out some bread and fat to devour. His stomach roared in protest at the small amount of food, but the Jew knew he had to save the rest for later. He was lucky enough that the Hubermanns gave him anything to eat since everyone on Himmel Street was struggling to get by. Biting into the hard bread, Max savored the mild flavor, the rough texture melting into a soft muddle in his mouth before he swallowed the sustenance down. He then gulped down the fat, the nourishment tasted of frostiness and blandness, but at least it was something. Max wouldn't be running on empty for a while.

Once the young Jew finished his small meal, the sky opened up. Rain dribbled down from the sky and pattered against the ground. It was not very heavy, but it was not light either, soaking Max's coat in minutes. He slipped the sack over his shoulders before wrapping the thick coat around his body to keep in what warmth he had, ignoring the wetness of the cloth. Keep going, keep going, his mind and instinct urged him. Keep going, keep going…

Max did keep going. He hunkered down where he could, making sure he would not get caught, and portioned what food he had carefully; still trying to get out of Germany and into Poland. It continued to rain, however, and without proper shelter, Max was starting to fall ill. Constantly being cold and wet does not exactly do well with a weak immune system and body. Inside his lungs, fluid would trickle in, pooling in those organs, and making it harder for him to breath. What the Jew did not realize was that he had pneumonia, and without aid, he was sentencing himself to death.

However, even if Max was German, he would not get care in time. The infection was too strong; no medication could help him now. The Jew was a ticking clock, every second, every minute, and every hour could be his last. He knew he was dying, but he had no idea how soon his demise would arrive. No one would mourn him. How could they, if no one knew him or if the ones that did may have already forgotten about him? Max was going to die alone and possibly forgotten, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Two days later after arriving at the border of Portland and Germany, Max succumbed to pneumonia. During his travel, he ran a fever and was coughing constantly. People avoided him entirely, not wanting to catch what he had, and no one trusted a stranger like him. No one would help him, and it left him suffering in the last days of his life. Max had drowned from fluid build-up in his lungs, but he fought until his very last breath. This Jewish fist-fighter was born a fighter, and went down a soldier. Never once did Max give up, he kept blocking punches and throwing them back. Max may have been a nobody, but he died believing in a new future.


End file.
